


Transit & Transition 4: Singapore Changi

by CoffeeWithConsequences



Series: Transit & Transition [4]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Airports, Fluff, M/M, No Angst, Pre-Relationship, Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 16:42:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14116575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeWithConsequences/pseuds/CoffeeWithConsequences
Summary: Transit & Transition series #4: Arthur and Eames get stuck for a few hours at an airport and do some shopping.Yes, seriously. That's all there is to it.Written for swtalmnd, who wanted shopping fluff.





	Transit & Transition 4: Singapore Changi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swtalmnd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swtalmnd/gifts).



> This story is the fourth installment of my [Transit & Transition](https://archiveofourown.org/series/963117) series. These short stories are non-chronological, and all take place in travel settings, mostly airports and hotels. They are thematically linked, but each functions as a stand-alone piece.

**2012: Singapore Changi**

In general, Arthur didn’t mind airports. He’d spent so much time in them, they felt homey. In particular, he liked the clean, regimented, well-oiled airports: Hong Kong, Munich, Tokyo Haneda. His hands-down favorite, though, was Singapore Changi. Changi was architecturally gorgeous and beautifully efficient. He liked Singapore in general--it appealed to his meticulous nature, and the food was good. He didn’t mind at all, then, when Eames suggested they meet at Changi to discuss a potential job. The timing worked out: Eames headed from a job in New Zealand back to London, Arthur having finished some work in Singapore and bound for Los Angeles. It seemed an efficient solution.

Arthur had seen Eames only a couple of times since the Saito job. They’d both taken vacations afterward, though Arthur didn’t have Eames’ ability to lay around for months without working. They’d worked together once in Paris, and Eames had quickly consulted on a job Arthur ran in Zurich, but that was about it. Arthur told himself, as he walked through Terminal 2 toward Harry’s Bar, that his flipping stomach was due to exhaustion and hunger, not the prospect of seeing Eames after so long. Just as he’d told himself, when getting dressed, that he was taking extra effort only because the people in Singapore were so stylish. Both of those things could be true. They weren’t, but they could be.

Tending, as he did, toward being early (it threw people off), Eames was already at the bar. “Arthur,” he said, warm-voiced, when Arthur sat down beside him. He looked good--tan, his hair a little long, the sleeves of his awful shirt tight around his biceps.

“Mr. Eames,” Arthur replied, allowing himself a half-smile. “Looks as if New Zealand agreed with you.”

“Yes, saw me right,” Eames agreed. “You’ve been here?”

Arthur nodded. As they talked, Arthur noted, as he had every time they’d been in the same room since Fischer, that they seemed stilted, uncomfortable with one another. The air between them was heavier than it used to be. Still, it was easy enough to hammer out the details of the job--it was a good one, with a good payout. As always, Eames negotiated a more-than-market rate for himself, but Arthur didn’t really mind. He was worth it.

Just as he was thinking of settling his tab and heading toward his gate, Arthur’s phone buzzed. Eames’ buzzed almost simultaneously, and they looked at each other suspiciously. Then, glancing at their screens, they both groaned. The slightly ominous clouds Arthur noticed on his way to the airport had apparently turned thunderstorm, and no flights were leaving for the near future.

“Fascinating,” Eames said, rubbing his hands together. “I’ve often wondered what you do during flight delays. Wasted time being the sin it is to you.”

For reasons he didn’t wholly understand, Arthur bit back the snarky reply on his tongue. “The same things you do, I’d guess.”

Eames grinned. “Start card games in the first class lounge and shag flight attendants? Brilliant!”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “No. Maybe not what you do. What normal people do.”

Eames was unruffled. “What do normal people do, then? Show me.”

Arthur squared his shoulders and hopped off his barstool. “Fair enough,” he said. “Normal people shop.”

Changi was a good place to shop. Arthur’s first stop was Bottega Veneta. While he certainly wouldn’t buy something so serious as a suit in an airport, he enjoyed looking at the smaller leather goods, spending ten minutes or so examining a selection of wallets. Most of this season’s offerings were bright colors, which didn’t appeal to Arthur, but the craftsmanship was excellent.

Looking up from a belt that caught his attention, Arthur saw Eames leaning against a glass case, watching him with a half-smirk. “Arthur,” he asked, drawing the name out in that way the caused a chill up Arthur’s spine, “how many belts do you own?”

Arthur frowned. “I don’t know,” he shrugged. He did know, of course, but there was no way Eames was getting the satisfaction.

After deciding against the Bottega offerings, Arthur led Eames to Gucci. As soon as he walked in, a pair of shoes caught his eye, and he moved closer to examine them. Coming up behind him, Arthur heard Eames laugh.

“What?” Arthur asked, distracted, turning the brogues over in his hand. They had a buckle detail he found equal parts distracting and fantastic.

“Queercore?” Eames asked, his finger tapping the small sign. “Really, pet? Bit on the nose, isn’t it?”

He hated that he did it, but Arthur blushed as he returned the shoe to the case. “I hate you, Eames.”

“Don’t be like that,” Eames wheedled. “Your delectable feet would look smashing in those shoes. You are the very essence of Gucci Queercore.”

Glaring, Arthur stalked out of the store.

Jogging a few steps to catch up, Eames grabbed Arthur’s elbow. “Next store is my pick,” he said. “I’ll show you some real airport shopping.”

Arthur shook his head, but allowed Eames to lead him into a brightly colored shop with a sign reading “Candy Empire.”

“Good Lord, you’re a child,” Arthur muttered, looking around at the overwhelming shelves of candy and wrinkling his nose at the number of sticky children surrounding him.

“Pick N Mix,” Eames said smugly. He gestured toward a wall of open bins, each with a different type of candy. “One of the greatest contributions of my people to the planet.” He reached toward a bin and ran his fingers through the wrapped sweets inside. “Tell me, darling, what’s your poison?”

Over the next few minutes, Arthur watched with equal parts amusement and horror as Eames filled two plastic bags to their maximum capacities. In one, he put everything Arthur pointed out: round Lindt chocolates, Ritter Sports, various caramels. In the other, he shoved every brightly colored fake-fruit monstrosity he could find, with an actual gasp of delight when he saw the bin of tiny fake bananas. Finally moving to the front of the store and plopping the bags on the scale, Arthur was stunned to see Eames had chosen $82 worth of candy. Paying with a flourish, Eames handed Arthur “his” bag. “See,” he said. “Something actually useful.”

While Eames was distracted by his feed bag of sugar and artificial color, Arthur walked them toward Montblanc. “See,” he said, crossing the threshold. “Something actually useful.” Raising his eyebrows to punctuate his point, Arthur crossed quickly to the counter. “Fine ballpoint refills in Mystery Black and Pacific Blue, please,” he said to the cashier. Turning to Eames, he asked with fake solicitousness, “do you need anything?”

“Got a pen from the hotel, I’m all set,” Eames said, patting his pocket and not bothering to hide his smile.

Next, Eames took Arthur to Durian Mpire, where they tasted every durian-centered dessert Eames could wheedle from the blushing girl behind the counter. When Arthur chose Hermes, Eames talked him into buying a Mors de Rire tie (it wasn’t a hard sell). They walked through duty-free to buy liquor (Eames), Jo Malone to buy body wash (Arthur), and a newsstand to buy paperbacks (both of them). Shoving through the throng of tourists at the Discover Singapore store, Eames pointed at bells, shot glasses, keychains, and novelty stuffed animals before triumphantly purchasing a t-shirt with a picture of a lion on it. He also stole three wallets.

Arthur was still laughing as he settled into his first-class seat, his shoulder bag stuffed with purchases. The business travelers around him were grouchy and glowering, irritated by the two-hour delay. On a normal day, Arthur would have the same expression, but today it didn’t matter. His face felt strange, unused to spending so much time in a smile. He ordered a sparkling water and leaned back against his seat, noticing, as he rarely did anymore, how lovely and cushy first-class seats were. He complimented the flight attendant on her shoes, and nodded genially at the man across from him. Arthur knew he was taking the longest flight possible, that he’d be in the air for nearly eighteen hours, but he couldn’t bring himself to dread it.

As the plane moved through the darkness on its long trek over the Pacific Ocean, Arthur closed his eyes. He wasn’t really surprised when he saw Eames there, tan and gorgeous, smiling. In a month, he’d see Eames again, for a job in Chicago. He was already looking forward to it.

**Author's Note:**

> Please come visit me on [Tumblr](https://coffeewithconsequences.tumblr.com/) or read the rest of my fic here at [Archive of Our Own](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeWithConsequences/works)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [What’s Your Poison? (the Candy Mania Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16004888) by [mific](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific)




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